


The Father of the Man

by terri_testing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:24:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terri_testing/pseuds/terri_testing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The nail that sticks up, gets hammered down."--Muggle saying.</p><p>The childhood of Severus Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby

Disclaimer: Not mine, all JKRs!  
  
Thanks to pisceskp_4 for her beta work.  
  
_"Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions--weak people, in other words--they stand no chance!"  Professor Snape_  
  
  
When the weather started to get warm, sometimes Mrs. Bray fell asleep on her stoop with her baby next to her in the pram. It was funny that a lady fell asleep in the day like that. He started sneaking up to look at the baby when she was asleep. He noticed that she smelled funny those days she fell asleep, like his Da some nights, or the men coming out of the pub. Not like cigarettes, though. Like the other thing.  
  
The baby was stupid. He couldn't believe anyone could be so stupid. It cried a lot: didn't it know you'd be given something to cry about if you did that? But then when it wasn't crying or asleep, it laughed a lot. What was so funny?  
  
He watched it. It ate its hands and laughed. It tried to grab the little dangly things on its pram and laughed. It tried to catch a sunbeam and laughed when it couldn't. Didn't it know better? If you laughed they noticed you. He couldn't believe it was so stupid.  
  
He bent over the pram and the baby smiled up at him. He frowned at it. Why was it smiling? He waved his hand by its face; it grabbed his finger with a fat little hand and the little mouth opened hugely in a toothless grin of triumph.  
  
He looked around to make sure no one was noticing. Babies were for girls; he knew his Da would say so. No one was in sight but Mrs. Bray. Her head was tilted back; her mouth was open as wide as the baby's as she snored. Safe enough.  
  
It was a stupid baby. He should teach it a lesson. He took his stick and poked the baby. Not on the skin where it would scratch, just in the ribs, but hard, hard. He'd teach it.  
  
Things weren't funny, like the baby seemed to think.  
  
He jumped back and ran away when the baby started bawling. It made so much noise! Didn't it know you weren't supposed to make so much noise? Noisy baby! He hid behind his stoop and watched Mrs. Bray wake up. She sort of slipped sideways on her steps when she tried to get up.  
  
"Na, na," she told the baby. Then she picked it up and held it on top of her while she seemed to go half back to sleep. The baby stopped bawling and slept for a while, and then it started up again, sounding different.  
  
"Time for a bottle," she said, and took the baby inside.  
  
*  
  
The next few days were rainy, and then the next sunny day Mrs. Bray wasn't sleepy. But two days later she was again, and he crept up to see the baby.  
  
Stupid baby. He didn't like it when it was noisy.  
  
It looked at him uncertainly this time, but he waved his hand by its face again. It grabbed his finger, like before, and grinned at him. Stupid baby. Why was it so happy? He pulled his finger away and its face scrunched up. He moved his hand back; it grabbed and missed, and giggled. Then it caught his finger, and its whole face opened in that toothless, triumphant laugh.  
  
He giggled too, not meaning to. Stupid baby.  
  
It was so stupid it liked stupid games. He played the stupid game with the baby, letting it try to catch his fingers. He had to let it catch his finger once in a while, or its face would scrunch up again. After a while it pulled his finger to its mouth and started to suck on it.

It sucked strong!  
  
But after a bit its face scrunched up again, and it started to toss its head. He looked at it uncertainly and gave it another finger. It tried that one and then started to bawl. That second bawl, the different one, not the poking-bawl.  
  
He didn't like it when the baby was noisy; he ran away before Mrs. Bray woke all the way up. But he hid by his own stoop and heard her. "Bottle time!"  
  
She didn't bring the baby out again.  
  
*  
  
A few days later Mrs. Bray was asleep again. The baby grinned delightedly when he bent over it. He played the stupid grabbing-game again. But he needed to teach the baby. It was dangerous to be so noisy. He tried to explain to the baby.  
  
"Na, na, baby. You need to be quiet; then they don't notice you," he whispered, bending down to it.  
  
The baby giggled happily at him and grabbed at his nose. Stupid baby! He played the grabbing-finger game with it for a while, until Mrs. Bray started to wake up.  
  
*  
  
There were some rainy days for a while, when Mrs. Bray didn't go out with the baby. Then it was a while of sunny days before Mrs. Bray was sleepy again. The baby reached for him when he bent over it.  
  
"Did you miss me, baby?" he whispered.  
  
It made funny noises and grinned. He needed to teach it to talk right. He needed to teach it lots of things. It was a stupid baby.  
  
He looked around. Mrs. Bray had slipped sideways again. He grabbed the baby under its armpits and hauled at it--it was heavy! He got it up and clutched it to him. Its arms went around him. He hauled further and got it all the way out of the pram, then walked over to his own stoop. That was hard! The baby was heavy. He held it on top of him like Mrs. Bray did. He needed to teach it.  
  
It kept trying to stand up on him; he held it under the arms while it swayed back and forth. It was a really heavy baby; were they all this heavy? It grabbed at his nose again and giggled at him. He couldn't hold it away from his nose while he held it up! And he couldn't let it fall; falling hurt!  
  
He giggled a little, even though its nails scratched his face.  
  
"Stupid baby," he whispered. "You have to learn to be quiet. You have to learn not to cry. You have to stop laughing so much--you make too much noise. They notice you when you make noise. You have to learn, stupid baby. You have to stop being stupid, or you'll get hurt."  
  
It wasn't listening to what he was saying; it was trying to stuff its fist in his mouth. He made a face and bit its fist, and it giggled really loud. He wasn't teaching it very good. He played the grabbing-game with it instead. He'd teach it later.  
  
Mrs. Bray made a snorting sound; he looked over, scared. Was she waking up? She was! He hauled the baby against him and staggered back to the pram. The baby grabbed at him when he tried to stuff it back in. When he made it let go, it started to bawl again. A different bawl, not the poking-bawl or the bottle-time-bawl. He ran away.  
  
*  
  
Sometimes after that it bawled like that on the days Mrs. Bray stayed awake. Like it wanted to play with him. Even if it was only stupid grabbing-games. Stupid baby. He couldn't play with it when Mrs. Bray was awake, didn't it know that?  
  
Mrs. Bray didn't like it when the baby bawled. And it still didn't do like he told it. It played games instead of learning. It kept laughing and crying and stuff. It didn't listen when he told it to be quiet. It liked to grab at him and giggle. It was a stupid baby. It wouldn't learn.  
  
*  
  
Some days were really hot now. If Mrs. Bray didn't sleep, he went down to the trees by the river. He had a special place there, where it was cooler. Usually he waited to see first if she'd fall asleep, though. If the baby bawled for him too much, it would get in trouble. He didn't want that.  
  
*  
  
Then for a couple of days it was sunny but Mrs. Bray didn't bring the baby out. Then when she did, the baby wasn't laughing.  
  
It was coughing. He didn't like to hear that.  
  
The stupid baby should be laughing.  
  
He waited until she fell asleep. The baby had fallen asleep, too, not looking for him like usual. He bent over it; it coughed without waking. Its face was wrong, purplish instead of pink.  
  
He grabbed the baby by the armpits. It woke a little but not all the way. He carried it over to his own stoop; it lay against him, not trying to stand. It kept coughing, and the coughs made it shake.  
  
It was too little to shake like that.  
  
That one time _he_ couldn't stop coughing, and when he lay down flat it felt like he couldn't breathe.

So he held the baby up against him, so it wasn't lying down.

His mum had taken her wand and sung something. He was too little to have a wand, but he had the stick he kept for play. And he could sing.  
  
He didn't know his mum's song, so he made one up. No-words, like the baby always said anyhow. Just noises.  
  
Stupid baby, it wasn't learning. He kept trying and trying to teach it. It wouldn't learn.  
  
He stroked its back in circles while he sang to it. His hand felt funny, glowy. After a while the coughing stopped shaking it. After a while the coughing stopped. The baby was asleep. Its face was back to pinkish.  
  
Mrs. Bray would be waking up soon. He carried the baby back to the pram. It didn't wake when he put it down. He hadn't played with it at all today, but he felt tired anyhow.  
  
Stupid baby.  
  
Mrs. Bray didn't bring it out the next day, or the next.  
  
Or the next.  
  
*  
  
There were ladies going into the house. Some of the houses, the ladies went in and out all the time. Not Mrs. Bray's. Not his mum's. He hid in the shadow of the bushes; when he hid _that way_ , usually only his mum could find him. His Da couldn't. The ladies couldn't. He could listen from the shadows.  
  
"--seemed to be recovering, for a time."  
  
"-- the doctor said--"   
  
"-- not much chance--"  
  
The words the ladies said didn't mean much. Their shoulders said more. Their shoulders said, something's wrong. Their shoulders said, the ladies didn't want to go in there.  
  
But the baby was in there. They should bring the baby out, so he could sing to it!  
  
But they didn't. No one did.  
  
*  
  
Finally he went to his mum. Afternoon, so his Da wasn't there.  
  
"Is Mrs. Bray's baby sick?"  
  
"So they say," she answered, stirring the pot on the stove. The stove was lit with blue flames, so he knew it was one of her special things. Something she'd make him drink, probably.  
  
"Mum--can't you do anything for it?" His mum's eyes were very black then, as she looked at him.  
  
"What would you have me do for it, Sevvie?"  
  
"Well--if I was sick like that--what would you do?"  
  
She shut her eyes a second. "Severus, if you were that sick I would harrow Hell. And I might have to. For Mrs. Bray's boy.... They have doctors; they have lots of things they could do. If she stopped drinking long enough to try. The baby will probably be all right."  
  
She stirred her pot. He didn't say anything, just stood and watched her.  
  
She looked back at him and said, "Sevvie ... you and I are magic. We're _wizards_. They are not. They're _Muggles._ We're not allowed to use magic on, or in the presence of, Muggles, except to protect ourselves. That's the _law._ "  
  
On, or in the presence of.... What did that mean?  
  
He broke the law by singing? He could be punished!  
  
He backed away from his mum.  
  
"Sevvie. The baby will probably be okay. If not, it was just weak. Sometimes that happens, with Muggles."  
  
*  
  
It died because it was weak. Stupid baby. Stupid Muggle baby.  
  
  
It wouldn't have had to die if it was magic. That's the law.  
  
  
Stupid Muggle.

 

 

 

 

 

This story archived at: [Occlumency](http://occlumency.sycophanthex.com)

 

 

 

 

 

<http://occlumency.sycophanthex.com/viewstory.php?sid=7316>


	2. Infant School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus learns the consequences of showing off.

_“… that Snape boy. They live down Spinner’s End, by the river.”_ Petunia Evans

The children had started practicing printing their capital A’s and B’s. Jenny Havers circulated through the battered wooden desks to help them. Autumn sunlight slanted through the grimy window, touching some of the children with gold even through the pollution in the air.

The golden light from the window reached nowhere near the inside wall. One of the smaller boys had claimed the shadowed desk closest to the door as though he had planned an escape. He stared up at the teacher through dirty black hair.

His paper showed only a few experimental scratches. From down by the river, she could see at once. His clothes were ill-fitting and ill-chosen; he looked stringy and wary. A bruise decorated his left cheek. Jenny tried very hard not to sigh. The river rats were always a problem. Unprepared, hostile…. She smiled encouragingly at him. “The alphabet’s not that hard, dear, and see, it’s on the board for when you forget. Now, this is how you do an ‘A’.”

She reached for his page to guide him; the boy jerked it away, hunched over the rough, grey paper, and wrote, “I know the alphabet’s not that hard. I learned it when I was three. My name is Severus Snape.”

He held his pencil a bit oddly, Jenny noted absently through her shock. He’d written in cursive, and his hand was large, dark and bold, even in pencil. The pencil had torn the page in two places where he pressed too hard. He lifted his head again; dark eyes met hers. The touch of pride and hope were buried instantly when he saw the stiffness of her face, leaving only defiance to face her.

Jenny tried to force back her humiliation ( _“now this is how you do an ‘A’, dear”_ ) and to speak encouragingly again. “Well… well… that’s very good, Severus. Who taught you to do that?”

She was too late; he was hunched against her, staring sullenly at the betraying page. Jenny tried again. “Most of the children from … your, er, background don’t know that yet. Was it your mum who taught you?”

A stiff nod. A further tensing. She considered the bruise on the averted cheek and stifled another sigh. Left cheek. Right-handed… man? Or the mum? Or nothing, a scuffle with other children? A situation, at any rate. What to do with the boy?

“Do you know how to print too, or just to write in cursive?”

Face still averted, he dipped his chin towards the paper. No?

“Just cursive? For today, then, I want you to practice printing the alphabet. You do need to know that way of writing too.”

*

“Know-it-all! Show-off! Think you’re better nor us?”

“Ooh, _Mummy_ taught you?”

“Show off! Mummy’s boy!”

One of them pushed him. Then another. Sharp pains bloomed in his right cheek and shoulder as the final shove slammed him up against the rough bricks of the building. By the time the monitor turned, he was alone and bleeding.

The nurse’s office was small and dingy. The flickering fluorescent was cold after the golden sunlight.

He knew better than to squeal. “I fell.”

*

“They said I was showing off. They said I thought I was better nor them,” the boy whispered as his mother examined his cheek and shoulder.

“You _are_ better than they are, Severus. You’re superior. You’re a wizard. But you’ve got to keep that a secret.” Since his Da hadn’t done it to him, Mum was mixing up a poultice for the bruising on his shoulder. Da didn’t like it when Mum fixed things; he always said, the boy needs to learn a lesson and how’ll he learn if she coddles him? But he wouldn’t know about this, so she could fix it.

The boy sighed slightly as the poultice relieved the bruising. His mother brushed the dark hair away from his eyes and told him, “I can’t do much for the scrape on your cheek, though. They’ll wonder tomorrow at school if it’s gone.”

“Mum… do I have to go back there? Miss Havers isn’t teaching anything, anyhow. Just the alphabet… that was why. I just wrote something. I didn’t know I shouldn’t. I didn’t mean to show off!”

She sighed in that way that meant Da was involved. They had a whole set of sighs and silences around his Da. “Severus… it’s the law. Your birth was registered with the Muggles, so you have to go to their school. I think.”

Muggles. The law. The small body tightened at the words. He looked down.

“Maybe I can ask.”

*

The man’s fist punched the wall, once, twice. This time, the boy noted, he didn’t make a hole. The man rounded on his wife. “I’ll not have it, Eileen! Teaching him at home? You’ve tied him to your apron strings too much already. I’ll not have you making my son more of a freak than you have!”

He was not a large man, but he towered over the slight woman and the boy. “I’ll not have it, do you hear me? The boy needs to learn to be a man. He needs to stand up for himself, that’s what it is. He goes to school, and that’s final.”

He yanked the cowering child to his feet. “And stop that sniveling, boy, or I’ll give you something to cry about. Only fools and weaklings cry—and girls. If you let the other boys think you’re weak, you won’t stand a chance. You need to learn.”

*

His mother whispered the next morning, after his Da had left, “But… maybe I can do something so you’re not in that class, at least. No sense in letting you waste time with things you already know, and classmates who beat you up.”

*

The Headmistress didn’t know why she would have agreed to such a thing. There was a strong push to keep children with their age mates, regardless of how high above age level they tested academically. It wasn’t as though Mrs. Snape were a prepossessing parent, either; the sullen dignity of her bearing was undermined by her eccentric dress. Still, the decision had been made to accede to her request to move him up a grade.

*

“What’s a baby river rat doing in our classroom, huh?”

Poulton had waited until lunch break to attack him. In front of the teacher, his eyes had been blue and open, his smile wide. He’d readily agreed to “show the new boy the ropes.” Now his eyes were narrowed, and he blocked Severus’s escape. Two of his friends flanked him, and the three showed Severus the ropes.

These new kids were all older than him, and all of them wore clothes that looked new and matched what the other kids wore. Now Severus knew better than to draw attention to himself, but it was too late. He was too different to go unremarked here. He didn’t look at them, but they looked at him: his clothes, his dirt, his smallness. He couldn’t hide when so many were looking straight at him.

He refused to read aloud with the others, but it didn’t help. The teacher still eventually caught him out: “reading well above grade level, despite his age” she said right where the class could hear. He glared at her, but it was too late. He’d been stupid again, showing off. Letting them see.

“Rive’ rat! Rive’ rat.” When they chanted it at him at recess the words slurred. It sounded like one of his mum’s incantations, when they said it like that. Ritual.

However, the new kids, although bigger, didn’t usually hit as hard as the kids from his own neighborhood. But the other river rats could still catch him at recess and chase him home from school.

His mum started keeping bruise salve constantly on hand. Eventually, she kept Skelegrow. She whispered fiercely, continually, to her child, “You _are_ better than they are, Severus. You’re a wizard. But you’ve got to keep it a secret.”


	3. Escalation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: In which Severus learns from experience.
> 
> “Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year.” Sirius Black

“Rive’ rat! Show off!” 

But how the hell was Severus supposed to muck up a spelling test? How did they manage to do it? 

This time it was Poulton, Cartwright, and Davies, with several of their cronies acting as a wall to keep the recess monitors from noticing. Their kicks and punches were methodical and centered on his torso and legs; Severus applauded their ability to learn from experience. Last month they’d blacked his eye, and the headmistress had tracked them down even though Severus had refused to say anything. 

But they’d learned. No visible marks, no problem.

He’d learned from experience too. His first year, he’d learned that complaining to adults made the next beating worse, and that there’d always be a next one. His second year, he’d learned to save struggling for when it would make a difference. 

Here it would not; there were enough of them to immobilize him. So he stared at them coldly, knowing that his silence would infuriate them more than any resistance he could put up. 

The strategy could be said to backfire, in that they’d probably stop sooner if he gave them the satisfaction of watching him fight ineffectually. But he hated to feel helpless worse than he hated the pain, and this crowd was unlikely to do serious damage. He sneered at them as they hit him.

If only he could hex reliably. To protect oneself was legal. But most kids were teens with wands before they achieved any sort of consistency, his mum said. He’d be at Hogwarts by then and protecting himself would be irrelevant; he needed the power now. 

“You fucking apes!” he snarled. And this time, it happened. Their arms got longer; their faces changed; hair covered their visible skin. Apes. Or ape-boys: the horror in their eyes owed nothing to bestiality. Severus was still laughing when the Magical Accidents Team had finished Obliviating the witnesses.

But when Paine and his gang spotted him on his way home—nothing. No power. Even though then he was fighting in earnest; Paine meant business. All Paine had heard was that something funny had gone down with Snape over recess; for Paine that was enough.   
*

Poulton and his crowd circled warily for a few weeks. They didn’t remember anything happening, but they felt uncomfortable about what they didn’t remember. His mum told him that Obliviation often worked like that. But therefore, Severus hadn’t taught them anything.

Instead, they’d taught him. Not to leave marks. Not to do anything that would have to be Obliviated, erased. Then he could teach them a lesson. No visible marks, no problem. 

Emotion, intent, words. Could he use that? Could he focus enough, without a wand yet? He practiced, cautiously, on his father when he was drunk. Not even his mum caught on. Five weeks later, when Davies tripped him, he was ready. He coiled protectively around his belly when he landed, but laughed up at them. “Planning to kick me? I’d watch your feet, if I were you.”

One started hopping, then another. They stared at him, confused and furious. He smiled back. Ingrown toenails. It happened. Just not usually to five boys at once. On all ten toes.

Chilblains. 

Jock itch. 

He was getting the hang of what he could get away with. He couldn’t do it always, but they could never guess when he could. 

Nor could he.

They came to an unspoken agreement: he did nothing to draw attention to himself, in class recitations or in demeanor, and they pretended he didn’t exist. 

That worked for him.

*

But it didn’t work with Paine’s crew. His little hexes, however unreliable, had them scared; but for them scared meant worse attacks than before. He was pretty sure the last one had broken two ribs; his Mum had left him, tight-faced, and returned with that foul potion she’d used that time they got his arm. 

He varied his route home, but they knew the neighborhood as well as he. And they knew where he lived.

*

Their ambush this time was well-chosen; no snoopy mothers on this block who might interfere. They didn’t waste time; they tackled him and, once down, started punching and kicking. He curled ineffectually around himself; they liked that.

And something bloomed in him, fed by fury and despair. He uncoiled suddenly, hitting, and his hands drew blood where they touched the other boys. He laughed, seeing them recoil; it was as though his fingers were razors. He savored the sensation, feinted at them. He slashed them with his fingers, and watched them run. All of them.

None of them told where they’d got the slashes. They’d have been asked if he’d had a knife, and he hadn’t. Now had he?

But they knew he couldn’t do it always, any more than he could always hide.

If he could only control his magic, he could protect himself better. He’d been trying and trying to learn curses, but his Mum said he was too young. 

He was too young, too small, too weak. 

Still, Severus kept trying. It was all that he could do.


	4. Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus is surprised by the kindness of a stranger.

Summary: In which Severus is surprised by kindness from a stranger.

“It’s real for us. Not for her.” Severus Snape

Severus pushes his way roughly through the gaggle of girls, his Da’s coat flapping. Better than letting them see his Mum’s smock. They’re the year behind his at school—his age. He is smaller than most of them. Some days he can make himself unnoticeable, but not today. Today he’s followed by cruel laughter.

The boys he can fight, at least. Against the girls, though—there’s no defense at all against their laughter.

He can’t hit girls. His face burns as he hears their comments—“Rive’ rat! Rive’ rat! Look at that coat! My sister says he wears his Mum’s clothes under it!”

That one.

Severus flinches and tries to move out of earshot. If he could make himself invisible. If he could make himself deaf. If he could make them all blind.

All theoretically possible: he’s a wizard. He’s superior. When he gets his power. But even then he won’t be able to use his power openly; he’ll have to keep it a secret.

For now Severus tries to project that he’s a wall, a stone, something impenetrable and unfeeling.

Then a new voice cuts through the laughter. “It’s not funny! Leave him alone!”

Severus turns, his shoulders still tightened against the girls’ taunts, and looks at the group in shock. One of the girls has shaken loose from her friends. She stamps her foot, and red hair shakes about her face. “You’re mean! How do you like it when someone’s mean to you? He can’t help it if his folks can’t buy better clothes.”

“Lily, it’s just that River rat,” one of the other girls explains.

“I don’t care! You’re being mean!” She folds her arms and flounces off, several of the girls trailing after her. After a few minutes the group reforms itself around her, placating her, jumping rope. Their voices drift to Severus as they bounce. “Who, will, she, marry? Rich man poor man beggar man thief….”

Severus flushes, realizing that he’s been staring at a **girl** for several minutes. Fortunately no one caught him at it.

*

It was Petunia Evans’ little sister. Why would she stick up for Severus? Evans certainly never would have—she was one of the worst in her disdain for the river rats. Why was the sister different? On the days he was able to make himself unnoticeable, he stood in the shadows at recess and lunch, watching her, trying to figure it out.

She was a leader among her friends; they swirled around her as they had that day. And the only thing that seemed to make her really angry was when someone was mean. The rest of the time she was sunny-tempered; but cruelty, even just some teasing, brought that same flounce away. And then they, the others, the lesser ones, would follow her and cajole her back to sweetness.

Why should she care how her friends treated strangers? It made no sense.

She took delight in things. She noticed the first cracking open of the leaves—who else noticed that through the gray drizzle? She splashed through puddles without worrying about spoiling her clothes or getting cold. She ran, not to escape attacks, but to play. She acted like everything was a gift to her. Like a baby. Greeting life with such glee. But how could anyone reach that age and be that careless? How stupid was she?

Yet she was said to be bright, brighter than her friends, than her sister. Severus, spying, heard her maths teacher discussing her with another teacher. Yet no one punished her for it. It made no sense.

She didn’t add up. She made no sense. And she had stuck up for him, to her friends. Severus had to figure it out. What made her different?

On a rare sunny day just before the Easter hols, he screwed up all his courage and followed the Evans girls home. His not-really-there was working well; no one had tried to hit or shove him all day. But the girls didn’t go home; they stopped at a playground.

  
This was better than the school one; none of the swings was broken, and there were shrubs around the edges. Lily exclaimed over the swelling buds, while Petunia whined about the mud.

Snape slipped into the shrubs’ shadows and crouched; no need to strain himself to hide when shelter offered. After touching the plants, Lily went straight to the swings. Snape watched her pump herself, higher and higher. Some of the girls wouldn’t swing that high; they were afraid of boys looking up their skirts. Lily was afraid of nothing; her arms and legs worked hard, her head was flung back with abandon. She was giggling with glee. Petunia, beside her, swung sedately.

Higher and higher. At the top of the arc, Lily shot suddenly from the swing.

In the bushes, Snape snapped to his feet and almost shouted with horror. Lily would be hurt! She’d be broken on the ground! Her arm—her ribs—like Paine had done to him. And no Mum to heal her. She was like the baby, laughing at nothing, she was just like the baby, she was stupid like the baby, and she would die now!

His racing thoughts cut off abruptly as he realized what he was seeing. She was floating like thistledown to the ground, laughing in delight.

She was a witch. Like him. That’s how she was different. She was like him!

*

He could tell her. He could tell her how she was special, superior. He could bring her to his secret place, the leafy place by the river, this summer, when the green fragrance would overwhelm the smells of the river. No one else could find it, but he wouldn’t be alone there anymore.

Severus could tell her about magic. He could tell her about Hogwarts, where only wizards went and they’d fit in.

They would belong together. They’re alike.


	5. Epilogue:  Aboard the Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus finds out what Hogwarts will be like.

_“See ya, Snivellus!” James Potter / Sirius Black_

 

Lily looked at her friend in concern as he stumbled out of the train compartment. Had those nasty boys tripped him? Hurt him? He wore his closed expression, that tight look he always wore when she asked about his parents and their fighting. His face had been flashing with pleasure and excitement just a few minutes ago. Lily put aside her anger and guilt about Petunia to try to reach him. She smiled at him hopefully. “You look like a proper wizard in those robes. You look like the people in Diagon Alley. Should I change too?”

He just looked at her and snorted. He wasn’t going to let her change the subject, then.

Lily looked around and then pulled him into a new compartment. Ignoring the other kids there, she left her hand on his arm and shook him slightly.

“Those other boys don’t matter. They’re just prats. Who cares what they think about anything?”

 

_I thought it was going to be different, when we went to Hogwarts._

_I thought I would belong._

_There’s only her._

 

Severus straightened his shoulders and scowled. “I can handle them,” Severus said loftily. “They’re no worse than Davies or Poulton—and better than Paine and his crew. At least it’s only two of them, not a whole gang.”

 


End file.
